The Ever-Changing Balance
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: Tony doesn't do domesticity and he really wishes that he could go six months without having a heart attack, and he especially wishes that he could spend the entirety of this war on a yacht in the middle of nowhere. Loki agrees. Also, Bruce doesn't appreciate magic screwing up his life. Part Three of Heart of the Magpie


The Ever-Changing Balance

* * *

Summary: Tony doesn't do domesticity and he really wishes that he could go six months without having a heart attack, and he especially wishes that he could spend the entirety of this war on a yacht in the middle of nowhere. Loki agrees. Also, Bruce doesn't appreciate magic screwing up his life.

* * *

Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nope.

* * *

AN: Welcome to part three of **Heart of the Magpie**! Sorry for the delay, I lost my hold on this a bit and only recently got my groove back on it. Hopefully, it'll be here to stay! As always, if this is your first part, _please_ go back and read the first two. It'll make your lives so much easier.

Thank you to everyone who's been waiting for this part and all the new readers!

Part One: **The Knife in the Dark**  
Part Two: **The Current That Drags the Unwary**  
Part Three: **The Ever-Changing Balance**

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am. Have I ever led you astray?"

"…Considering that you summoned a raging green skull crusher from the future into my body, I _really_ don't think you want me to answer that."

The girl in black gave a quiet, undignified snort under her breath and shifted, bumping her shoulder against Bruce's. They were whispering and the hallway was empty, dark, and completely silent, save for them. The security was disarmed fifteen minutes prior from the coffee shop across the street and now the only thing the feeds displayed was the dark, empty hallway that she wanted them to.

It was a good farce, really. A fantastic one. Almost no one would have ever caught it, not unless you were Darcy Lewis, evil genius and all around brilliant human being.

At first glance, it looked like a relatively normal-looking abandoned office building. Kind of run-down, kind of ratty, kind of grimy. A thin layer of age-and-construction dust covered everything and she and Bruce left footprints on the stiff carpeting. Really, it was brilliantly done and she almost brushed it off.

Until, at least, she took a closer look and realized that the CCTV was way too high tech to be that of an abandoned building and the 'broken' windows weren't actually broken, and the first door she'd tried opening after hacking the system refused to budge even when she'd tried prying it by way of a sledgehammer. Bruce sent her a reproachful look for that one and she'd waved him off.

He should have a little more fun with this.

"Awwww, come on. It's not that bad," she told him with a smile and he just eyed the lump in her jacket that was her only physical line of defense. Next to, of course, him.

"I'm a physicist, not a mindless killing machine."

"Eh, close enough," Darcy said distantly and eyed the camera in the corner of the hallway, still active and blinking. Of course it was active, no sense in getting anyone's attention by shutting off their feeds. Just…diverting them a little. Just until she got her nose so far into whatever was going on that it would take a miracle to rip her out. Next to her, Bruce rubbed his temples and looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

She'd make it up to him later.

"You've got to think that this is at least a little bit fun," she said, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"My apologies, I left it at home when someone decided that it would be a fantastic idea to try out some hinky magic ritual and ruin my life."

Darcy flinched.

"…I said I was sorry," she replied eventually, and she was. She hadn't planned on this, hadn't had a clue that something like this could even happen, that someone's future self could use his current form as a grounding vessel. Bruce didn't deserve this and she hadn't meant to do it to him. He was just a really, really smart dude who had conniption fits over getting enough grant money and not letting her roommates think he was her live-in sugar daddy. None of the forums had said anything about this, and that wasn't her fault. But it wasn't his either. It _especially_ wasn't his. "Look, we'll get in, find out what the hell's going on in here, and then get out. Besides, you should be happy. The quicker we make with the defeating, the quicker _you_ get Berserker out of your body."

"And thank god for that," Bruce muttered.

It was disconcertingly quiet.

Darcy expected _something_ by now, a something or a someone to stand in their path; that was the whole point, after all. But no, not yet. All she'd found so far were locked doors and silence and she couldn't help but wonder whether this was like all the horror movies she'd watched as a kid, where the hunters found out at the very end that in actuality, they were the hunted.

She shook her head.

It didn't matter. She had her brain and her taser and Bruce and something to prove, because she had to fix this and the only way to fix it was to win.

"Come on, Brucie, we're in it to win it. Think it'd be bad if I turned on my mp3 player in here? I feel like I need the backtrack to _Shaft_ to make the mood."

"Darcy…"

"Okay, okay, fine," Darcy flipped a hand at him—gloved with black to cover up her command seals—and led the way until, eventually, there was nowhere else to go. She and Bruce found themselves in front of a door and not a wall. But that didn't make sense. She'd memorized the dimensions of this building back to front, top to bottom, and this was the very end of it. It was, she knew it!

Darcy stepped forward and felt the edge of it. It seemed normal enough. Normal enough, at least, until she removed one of her gloves and pressed down harder with bare skin and felt a vibrating thrum of magic. Jackpot. She took a step back.

"Your turn, baby," she told Bruce and flicked a thumb in the direction of the door. "It's smashing time."

"Seriously, can we not?" he protested, already fidgeting. He _hated_ this part, hated the shift, hated how all of his control fled him and trickled into Darcy, and how every time it felt like she was one step closer to losing it too. And then what?

Blue eyes flashed.

"Do it, I've got you. You'll be fine."

Bruce drew in a breath and felt something like the madness—like diet madness, because it wasn't all of it, thank _god_—step in front of him. He flexed his muscles and felt Darcy's heartbeat rise, felt her grit her teeth together more than he saw it, raised a fist…and slammed the door, which gave under his strength. It opened, not into the open air that he would have expected but into another room, completely dark except for a tiny red dot blinking in the corner.

Crap.

He flicked a glance to Darcy, who was already breathing hard. Keeping him together was rough on her, even the partial calling that she'd performed just now. In a way it was harder, like unfastening the latch to a tiger cage and keeping it open only partway, even while the tiger tried its best to escape. Bruce was that tiger and Darcy was the keeper on the other end and the strength of her will was the lock that held the madness back.

"Show yourself!" she snapped into the darkness and there was a quiet tsk'ing noise from a place that neither of them could pinpoint.

"You guys are kind of rude, you know?" a gruff voice answered, "Here I am, minding my own business, you've got to come around and play with my system."

"You're a master," Darcy said and then amended, "Or a servant. Either way, that makes you our business." Bruce edged closer to her, not out of fear but out of instinct. It was the reason he was staying with her in the first place; she was the only person capable of calling him back.

From somewhere above, a light flicked on and revealed a man standing in front of them, tall and dark and clad all in black. A black patch covered his left eye, and it would have been nice if he'd pretended to look even a little bit surprised to see them.

"I wouldn't say that," the man said calmly, "Considering that this building belongs to me and _you_ are the ones breaking and entering."

Darcy looked around and frowned.

"You know, I'm a little disappointed. I've never been in a magic room before; I was expecting something a little homier."

The man in front of them didn't so much as blink or even move but a split-second later, an arrow came flying out of nowhere, lodging itself in the floor right between Darcy's feet. Darcy made a startled squeaking noise and darted backwards, instinctively grabbing onto Bruce's arm.

"The name's Nick Fury," he said with a slightly mocking nod of his head, "And you are?"

"None of your business," Darcy retorted. At her reply, Fury took out a little black moleskine from inside his jacket and flipped it open to a dog-eared page.

"Ah, here we go. It would have been so much simpler to just tell me, you know," he told her, "Darcy Lewis, age twenty-two. Studying political science at SoCal, recently off for summer vacation. And…" he shot Bruce a speculative look, "Bruce Banner, is it? You're far from home. Though I've got to wonder what it is exactly that you're doing here. This is no place for a physicist." Bruce couldn't help but bristle before he felt the stirrings of a quickly-familiar rage in his gut and squashed them.

He tried to trust Darcy to hold it back. He did. But the woman was _crazy_.

"Also none of your business. He's with me and that's all you need to know. I also know that _you've _been getting up to all sorts of shady shit with whoever you summoned. I'm not an idiot; I saw the files."

Fury laced his hands together behind his back.

"Nothing in the rules says I can't get a little extra work done on the side. I assure you, miss, everything I've done is perfectly legal."

"Oh, so assassinations are legal now?"

"They are when they're in everyone's best interests," Fury said mildly and tilted his head towards the ceiling. Rather, where Darcy assumed the ceiling had to be _somewhere_, because god only knew that it was too dark to actually see it. "Archer, if you would."

In a near-silent rustle of movement that was only heard because he allowed it, a man dropped down from wherever he'd been lurking above to stand next to Fury. He was dressed in an outfit of black and a purple so dark was nearly maroon, a quiver of arrows at his back.

"These bitches bothering you, boss?" he asked with a jaunty nod and received a glare from Fury in response.

"Enough sass from you, smartass," Fury said and turned his attention back to Darcy, ignoring his servant as if he were little more than one more employee under his foot. "Now, Miss Lewis, we've got a problem. You see, I wanted this to drag out. I've got a lot on my plate and Archer makes my job a hell of a lot easier," Archer preened a little bit at his words, the sides of his lips tilting up in a smirk, "So I'm going to give you one chance, just so you know what you're dealing with. Get out of here right now and never come back, and just this once, I won't follow you."

Darcy's hands twitched at her sides.

"Yeah, see, now _I've _got a problem. I came here for a reason and I found exactly what I was looking for. Like hell I'm backing out now. I don't really care about your plans or your job; I've got my own issues." Namely, finishing this quickly so that Bruce could get back to his life.

"Pity."

Fury went suddenly transparent, like he was no more than a reflection on a pond. Fuck, maybe he was.

"Don't waste my time, Archer, it's valuable."

"You got it, boss."

Archer drew his bow and Darcy scurried backwards, bringing up a shield, the only other spell she knew other than the basic summon. Bruce made no effort to join her and stayed where he was, arms crossed over his chest. He could feel Darcy's heartbeat rising again, felt a funny pulse and flutter where his own should be.

"Looks like no one gives a shit about you, buddy," Archer told him, "You're just collateral. Hey, lady, better summon your servant before your friend gets it."

"You…" she began and cut herself off; she had to do this slowly to keep control, to keep from losing herself, just a little more talk and she'd be just fine, "You've got no clue. I give _several_ shits about him and you're gonna find out why. I call upon you," the latch gave way and the tiger pulled, straining at its bonds, "Berserker!" And Darcy let the tiger go.

And then Bruce wasn't Bruce anymore but a towering, tightly-muscled green behemoth instead, eyes alight with a monstrous rage that belied an even more monstrous interior. From behind her shield, Darcy watched Archer's eyes go wide with a sort of unholy glee that wasn't entirely hers. Berserker bled into her just as her bonds of control bled into him and she clenched her hands so tightly that she dug half-moons into her palms with her fingernails.

The sudden desire to see both Archer and Fury on the ground and in pieces was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome.

"Go, Berserker!" she ordered him and Bruce-who-wasn't-Bruce-anymore lumbered forward on her command, swinging huge fists in Archer's direction. Archer dodged and darted up, sending arrows Berserker's way with a nearly silent twang. Hulk roared when they embedded themselves in his chest but he didn't fall, not by a long shot, only ripped them out and carried on with his rampage.

From behind her shield, Darcy trembled and fought the bloodlust that she knew was ripping through her servant. It physically hurt to hold it back and everything in her screamed to let it go, but let it go and she let _him_ go, and nothing good could come of that. So she held onto the tethers tight and regretted doing this in the first place, nowhere near for the first time.

"Aw, shit!" Archer dodged another blow and leapt back up into the rafters to ping down arrow after arrow, which stuck and embedded themselves in flesh but inspired little more than rage and a tiny hint of red in Darcy's eyes. "To hell with you, boss; you never said we were dealing with Berserker!" He sounded legitimately annoyed, but not afraid, and he _should_ have been, and Darcy wanted to make him burn, to watch Berserker pound him into the dust on the floor.

A careless blow missed Archer but hit the wall; it shimmered and crackled and finally began to crumble until streaks of sunlight began to creep in from the outside. Archer swore and Darcy followed and gripped Berserker-who-was-not-Bruce's reins tightly in clenched fists that were white-knuckled with tension.

And then everything stopped.

Archer froze where he was crouching on a beam in mid-aim, clearly listening to something only he could hear.

"Right, boss. On it." He straightened and looked Darcy in the face. "Sorry, lady. I draw the line at duking it out with you in broad daylight. We'll talk again later." And then he sprung, so much faster than Berserker, through the beams and rafters and then he was gone, leaving Darcy with a hulking rage monster still determined to smash everything that moved and even things that didn't.

She lowered her shield and reeled him back in.

"Steady, steady," Darcy growled through gritted teeth, because she was still thinking of Archer as prey and that was _so_ wrong but it was how it was. "Return to me, Berserker. Be calm and mine." She had to force the words out but the spells did their job and when she blinked away the red and madness, Bruce was himself again. He sat on the floor, clad only in a pair of utterly shredded pants, but he was himself regardless. Only then did Darcy wordlessly reach into her bag and throw him a new pair as well as a spare shirt.

"Thanks," Bruce replied. There was a rasp to his voice and he turned around to change, and Darcy felt like pacing around like an angry tiger.

They got away. They got away and there had been nothing she could do about it, not unless she wanted a green monster raging around Malibu, which obviously, _no_, she didn't. But the feeling of failure was sour and poisonous on Darcy's tongue and she swallowed back the sharp comments toward Bruce that were the result of holding back Berserker, even just that much, and that were not his fault. He seemed to understand the need for quiet and, when he dressed himself, approached her. Bruce's face was drawn and tight as it always was after she'd called on him, because he was a scientist and he'd never be able to stop thinking.

Because he could never stop thinking, he could never stop being afraid.

Berserker wasn't some random creature he had an affinity with; he was _him_ from some point in the future and Darcy didn't press him on it but knew it hung over his head like a specter. Hell.

Darcy pulled in a breath and pulled herself together.

"Let's go, big guy," she said eventually in order to pretend that she wasn't shaken too, "I'm starving."

* * *

Tony woke up with Loki's monster on his head and her tail in his mouth.

Oh, it wasn't bad enough that he'd let it stay in the house to start, no, it wasn't even bad enough that she decided that his bed was the place to be. No, definitely not… On his _head_, and Tony woke up with a mouthful of black fur. He sputtered and shooed the cat away, who merely shifted on the brunt of his pillow and stared at him like he was the idiot.

Well, like owner, like cat.

"Get off me," he muttered and rolled over to press his face into his pillow. The cat, way too much like its master, simply shifted and settled back down to curl her tail directly under his nose. Tony sneezed and sat up, dislodging Sindr and glaring at her. "I hate everything about you."

She gave a clear meow in his direction and flicked one ratty ear.

"I know you aren't verbally abusing my cat," Loki's knowing voice flickered in from the hallway, and Tony shifted his glare from the cat to where he knew his servant had to be lurking (and probably laughing, because that was just what Loki did).

"Then keep your monster out of my room," Tony grumbled back and Loki showed himself, already dressed for the day in a pair of dark green jeans and a button-down, along with a vest.

"But she likes you," he said and approached, looking all too at ease in Tony's bedroom. Loki wore a cryptic smile as he reached down and scooped up the mass of black on Tony's pillow to cradle her against his chest, "Isn't that right, dear heart?" Sindr let out an audible purr when Loki scratched her under the chin, lifting her head and preening. "Do you like Tony? We must work on your taste, my darling."

Smug, evil thing.

Tony wasn't sure just which of the two he was referring to with that thought, but it could have been either; it could have been both.

Still, there was something about this that all felt new and Tony wasn't sure if he liked it. Cats were pretty domestic, weren't they? Everyone had a cat; it was like a rule of domesticity. There was a cat and there was Loki, looking all too comfortable in his home, leaning in his doorways and invading Tony's space. Way too domestic for his comfort, even if Tony was very technically Loki's boss and Loki his unwilling-on-principle devotee.

There was a part of him that liked it anyway. He couldn't really say it was familiar like most people would have, because his family had never really been around enough to make it so. Having Loki around was what Tony thought family might be like: comfortable but utterly annoying, with a monster fluff ball to boot.

Loki hadn't moved, continued to stand near the bed with Sinny in his arms and an unreadable look on his face.

If Tony didn't know better (except that he totally knew better), he might have thought it looked like concern. He flashed a grin at him that inevitably had those dark brows scrunching down in preemptive indignation.

"How's about some breakfast?"

His question got little more than a candle set on his bedside and a rustle of fabric as Loki fled the room. Tony's grin widened.

Definitely a cat, he decided, claws and all, and flung the blankets off.

* * *

The warehouse was dimly lit with a chill in the air and Wolverine walked with purpose, ignoring the rats that skittered out of his way. Pepper had refused to stay behind but hung back at his demand that she not get herself killed unnecessarily quick, a demand that she had listened to almost certainly in an effort to humor him. As it was, she followed him, deceptively relaxed, though Logan knew that she was prepared to fight whoever or whatever they came upon. His footsteps echoed and he didn't attempt to quiet them nor did he attempt to keep from throwing shadows on the walls.

There was no point, not when he could sense the other servant as well as if he were seeing him, not when Wolverine had little to fear.

"Might as well show yourself," he called into the darkness, "I know you're here, come out before I start slicing at random."

"Can't have that, can we?" A voice came, a voice that Logan didn't recognize. Behind him, however, Pepper gave an affronted gasp.

"_Phil_? Phil Coulson?" she exclaimed, incredulity showing through her normally even tone.

A man stepped forward. He was a nondescript sort of man, trim and average height, brown hair, garbed in a suit and an expression of mild surprise. Nevertheless, Wolverine felt the power radiating off of him like waves on the ocean and his fists twitched.

"Miss Potts El-Melloi, it's good to see you again," he said with a short dip of his head, "It's been a while."

"Since the academy," Pepper replied and stepped up to stand next to Wolverine, "You look well."

"And you," Phil told her, "Everyone knew that you'd accomplish great things."

"Okay, can we quit the happy chatter?" Wolverine interrupted snappishly and let his claws slide out, "Any day now would be nice; this ain't some class reunion." Phil turned to look at him, raising a considering eyebrow.

"And that makes you Saber, I suppose." Wolverine didn't respond and Coulson didn't wait for one, only turned back to Pepper and ducked his head in what might have passed for a gracious bow to her. "Academy rules?" He raised his fingers as if about to snap them.

Pepper nodded.

"Can't guarantee how long that'll last," she said agreeably, "But it's a good start." There was a quiet popping sound and Coulson disappeared. Pepper reached over and gripped Logan by the upper arm, giving his bicep a firm squeeze and tugging him down to whisper in his ear. "Academy rules just means you don't start out with fatal moves immediately and you wait for my go-ahead. Phil's no cheater, but," her eyes flashed and Logan remembered just why she'd been able to summon him out of everyone else, "I'll tell you when to break them."

She stepped back and flickered, reappearing on a rafter a short ways away.

A snap echoed through the empty warehouse and it was the tap of feet that answered it, and Logan found himself staring at a red, white, and blue uniform and a face he'd never be able to forget.

"Oh, you've gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he snapped, "The hell'd this happen?"

Captain America tilted his head and straightened like his spine had been filled with steel.

"Logan," he said evenly, "It's been a while."

"No shit it's been a while. You disappeared!"

Blonde eyebrows furrowed and Wolverine caught the subtle clench of fists at his side, felt the tendril of satisfaction curl up in his stomach. His claws slid out of his knuckles with a familiar schick, gleaming.

"So did you," Steve replied lowly and that satisfaction fled in an instant to be replaced with a sort of cold fury, "I suppose that I'd hoped that you'd merely fled." He eyed Logan's claws. "Those are a new addition."

"I'm going to rip your face off," Wolverine snarled and felt Pepper's silent control on him tighten like a warning. _Enough_, it said, her magic telling him what she wasn't.

"On three," Coulson's disembodied voice came, polite and attentive, and this must have been what a racehorse felt like in the gate, Wolverine thought, Pepper's magic like a bit.

"Never thought I'd see you cowed like a dog, Rogers," Wolverine goaded and took a step back, bringing his claws up.

"Phil Coulson is a good man," Steve said, his mild manner betrayed by the way he brought his chin up, uppity just like he always had been when offended. "Can you say the same? Because if I'm not mistaken, _Wolverine_, your collar's looking a little tight."

Logan was going to kill him, he decided, screw whatever rules the lady thought she could make him follow.

"Three," Coulson said and Wolverine ignored the instinct to find him, "Two," Pepper's hold on him loosened and he wriggled his shoulders like a weight had been taken off, "One…"

"Go!" Pepper said sharply from her perch and _that_ was an order that Logan could get behind, and quick as a flash he darted forward, claws out…

Only to be caught on a shield that he couldn't slice, strong and emblazoned with a star.

"Ooooh, fancy," he dug in harder, pressing forward until he could feel Rogers' muscles clench behind his weapon, "Someone got himself an upgrade when he kicked it."

"Again, could say the same for you," Steve grit out and forced Logan's claws out of his face by way of shield, the clang of metal on metal ringing through the warehouse, "I remember those being a little more gnarly." Wolverine slid his knuckles down the wall and watched as even Pepper cringed at the sound it made.

"Nope, these babies are a pre-mortem addition."

Steve couldn't hold back his stare of horror, looking from the metal claws, to Wolverine, back to the claws.

"Don't look so surprised," Wolverine said gruffly, "War's nasty business. You oughta know that."

Steve did know that but he didn't have to like it.

And even then, war was what he knew.

He didn't have the time to think further because before he knew it, Wolverine was darting forward again with his claws out. Steve deflected the blow and slipped around behind him, raised the shield above his head, and brought it down on Logan's shoulders like the finest pro wrestler the world had ever known.

He took just a second too long and didn't back away fast enough to miss Wolverine's retaliatory strike, one that bypassed his shield and sank sharp claws into his arm. He felt it scrape bone and Steve wavered on his feet and clutched at his arm. Wolverine pulled back, ready again...

"Lancer, retreat."

Steve obeyed, slightly shaken despite himself.

It was an anticlimactic end.

All was silent except for Wolverine's irritated swearing and Pepper's grumbling as she dropped down from the rafters. On the way home, she didn't even protest when he demanded the greasiest, most artery-clogging cheeseburger they could find in the city.

* * *

It was a very long time since Steve Roger had been bullied into sitting atop the toilet bowl for someone to patch him up, and he eyed Phil Coulson with amused tolerance as he bustled around the bathroom, grabbing bandages and antiseptic and cream.

"I do heal quickly—"

"You'll heal more quickly if you let me fix you up."

Steve raised an eyebrow but submitted to the treatment, holding out his sluggishly bleeding arm. Phil dabbed antiseptic on with a cotton ball.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. Blue eyes blinked.

"…For?"

"I allowed you to be injured. It was my negligence that got you hurt and for that, I apologize." Steve stayed quiet and let himself be bandaged, let him tape down the gauze, let him cover it in a stretchy wrap, unnecessary as it might have been.

"It's alright," Steve replied, bemused. "I'll heal up, and it's not the worst I've ever gotten." He'd lived through a good chunk of the last world war after all; a few slashes were nothing to fret over. "Besides, that's my job, isn't it? So that you don't get hurt."

Coulson shook his head.

"No," he said firmly, "That might be how people fight a war, but that's not how you win one. It's your job to fight and my job to help you." He looked down with a self-deprecating smile. "Mage kids are the same as everyone else's kids. Who didn't grow up wanting to team up with Captain America?"

Steve's brows raised sharply in surprise and then smoothed out, touched and humbled.

Captain America, indeed.

* * *

There was a door that was never opened in the back of Tony's lab. There was of course the door that led to the supply closet, the door that led to the cleaning supply closet, and even the door that led to the spare parts closet, but this one was a mystery. Loki didn't spend extensive amounts of time down in the workrooms, usually only when he wanted to be irritating, or when he had something to say, or when he quite reluctantly wanted company other than his thoughts, but he was down there enough to know that he'd never seen Tony go near it, not once. Not ever.

He didn't seem to notice it was there in the way that Loki knew meant that he was all-too aware that it was there. Almost never was there a good reason for something like that and Loki unwillingly found his curiosity piqued.

He was a curious person by nature, which was undeniable. He would have eaten books if he didn't covet them so, had gloried for days in his introduction to Google, consumed media and culture and information like it was going out of style and the idea of Tony, who understood those kinds of needs more than anyone he'd ever met, ignoring something so entirely…

It itched.

* * *

"This is a fucking terrible idea," Tony muttered as he entered the towering building of labs and offices that was Stark Enterprises. Just behind him, a ginger, freckled man with a babyface and a lab coat kept up with the hasty, stumbling strides of an intern. Brown had slid over green eyes in the car and the coat was too big for him, slipping off his slouching shoulders and revealing a too-big button up underneath.

"No, it's a perfectly appropriate idea," Loki commented and Tony daren't as much as look at him, lest he start laughing. Loki as a redhead was funny; Loki as a redhead with freckles and the remnants of acne was hysterical. "It is no matter. I will not be out of place here."

Loki had derived far too much enjoyment out of informing him casually that morning that from then on he would be accompanying him to work in the form of a minion. Tony told him the politically correct form of the word was intern and Loki had made the guise work with little effort. As it was, he now looked absolutely nothing like himself.

There was nothing regal at all in the form he'd chosen, nothing that would give him away, especially with the way he'd practiced his look of dumbstruck awe earlier.

"What are you calling yourself, again?" Tony asked for the third time out of the corner of his mouth.

"I am to be Milo Holmes," Loki informed him, "I am the third but most intelligent son of one of your mid-level minions in another division far from this one and I won this internship with intense groveling and my ability to make exceptional coffee. You mortals live off of the stuff; no one will expect real skill from a child but think little of the way I seem to be everywhere at once. I will be in range should you call for me, as well as being able to gather information on my own. It is a near perfect plan."

Near perfect plans still weren't perfect.

Tony scanned his retinas at the large glass doors and they slid open with a silent whoosh.

"Whatever you say, _Milo_," he replied with a grimace and resisted the urge to tease him about what the name implied. If it wasn't for the fact that he didn't have to be here he most definitely wouldn't be; he'd much rather have been in his lab at home than the one here, despite the size difference, and he barely had to snap his fingers to have six or seven offers of a wrench. He also wasn't looking forward to seeing Pepper.

They'd been friends and colleagues forever; she wouldn't actually try and kill him, right? She'd seemed conflicted when she'd left…hell, _he'd_ been conflicted when she left.

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Or burn it.

"Go on, then," Tony made a shooing motion with his hands, "Begone with thee."

"Y-yes sir! Right away, sir!" Loki did an about-face and began to stutter, brown eyes wide and full of hero worship that made Tony want to start laughing and never stop, "Do you want that coffee now or later, sir?"

If Loki was only kidding about coffee, Tony would be killing him. Slowly and painfully.

It was easier than Tony thought it would have been to put incognito Loki (who never did come by with that coffee) out of his head, especially after he'd skittered away like he was terrified half out of his mind, and Tony drowned himself in innovation and creation until it was nearly lunchtime and he looked up to see Pepper standing in the doorway. The woman looked the way she did every day; certainly not like they'd had a supremely awkward encounter but a week before. Right now, she held a take-out bag in her hands.

Sweet lord, the beautiful creature brought him a burger, if the grease spot on the bottom of the bag was to be believed. Awesome.

"Hey, Pep," Tony greeted her regardless and pushed away some of the clutter on his work table. "Welcome to my lair."

"Yes, yes, whoo-oo," Pepper deadpanned and approached the table to toss the bag onto it, "Lunch for the heathen."

"You are beautiful and perfect and the pearl of my heart," Tony informed her reverently as he pulled the cheeseburger and curly fries out of the bag. Pepper rolled her eyes a bit but let her smile meet her eyes. "Nothing for you?"

"I already ate," she replied and brushed her hair behind her ears. "Listen, Tony—"

"Nope," he interrupted, "No grail business during lunch." Pepper's eyes narrowed as he continued, "Actually, I take that back. No grail business in the workplace. In fact, no grail business at all."

"But Tony, this is important—"

Tony set down his burger and held up a hand for silence.

"Can I just—Okay, look. This is already super weird enough and I can't say that I'm not still a little weirded out by the fact that you're some sort of magic wizard and never saw fit to tell me about it. But that's your MO and I get it. But here, I don't want that to matter. You're just Pepper and I already hate the idea that we're set against each other right now, and I don't want to fight you. That also means that I don't…when we're here or when you come over or when…anytime, I just want it to be normal. Do what you have to do and I'll do what I have to do but unless it's on the scale of immediate life or death, I don't want to hear it." Tony thought of Loki, then, hoped that wherever he was in the building that he might be hearing this.

There was no Loki, though, only Pepper who watched him like she didn't quite know him. Pepper, who eventually let the edges of her lips quirk up. Pepper, who sighed and shook her head and pulled the other chair over the side of Tony's work table, where she then proceeded to steal his French fries.

* * *

"I've got it."

Tony fell out of his chair and glared up at Loki, who still wore his disguise but none of the mannerisms of it. He might be ginger and freckled and gangly but the look on his face was all Loki, as was the way he held the packet of papers in his hands.

"Good to see you too," Tony grumbled and picked himself up off of the floor, "And what have you got?" Loki drew himself up and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was unbecoming in this form, especially if someone were to happen to see in. The door was shut, however, and Loki knew for a fact that Tony had slipped the security feed with little more than the clack of fingertips on computer keys.

"Miss Potts' servant," Loki elaborated and let the veneer of exasperation slip away to be replaced with the elation he felt like the tides, "I found him."

Tony's mouth dropped open.

"Oh, rockin'," he said, "What've you got?"

"It was actually thanks to one of your employees," Loki demurred and flipped open the packet, "Quite the history aficionado and quite willing to help a frazzled college student with his research. Our mystery man is known in the history books as Wolverine and he dates back to your first World War. Canadian, if your aid is to be believed. There are accounts, though taken primarily as war lore, that Wolverine received the moniker by the claws, theoretically _bone_ claws, which he was able to pull in and out from his knuckles. That would certainly explain the scars," Loki mused, "He died sometime after the war or during, no one is entirely sure. Either way, he's long dead and the perfect candidate." Loki flipped a few pages further. "Were I to make a guess, I would say that we were looking at Saber." At Tony's raised eyebrow, Loki clawed his hands and made a swiping motion with them.

"Okay, point taken." Tony took the moment to enter a search and open up everything that looked even remotely relevant. "That's awesome. Good job, buddy." Loki glared.

"I am not your 'buddy'," he informed Tony sullenly even as he used air quotes for emphasis, "Nor am I your pal, your chum, or your sidekick. We are _associates_."

"Comrades?" Tony offered.

"At the most, acquaintances," Loki said.

"Allies?"

Both of them went entirely still and Loki actually looked a loss for words, an expression that Tony would have rather seen on his normal face. It was unusual for him to be so flummoxed and Tony wondered if he'd put a touch too much sincerity into that one. Finally, Loki furrowed his brows but let the sides of his lips tilt upwards just the tiniest fraction. It wasn't a smile by a long shot so much as it was a softening of the sharp edges.

The difference was astounding.

"We are that indeed," Loki replied, finally. His voice was quiet and smooth and lacking the bravado he normally bathed in. "That is an acceptable descriptor."

And fuck if Tony wasn't actually feeling the warm and fuzzies. He dealt with them as he always did, with a change of subject, and chucked a crumpled ball of paper at Loki's head. The man sputtered and clenched it in his fist before throwing it right back.

Tony didn't even try to dodge.

* * *

Tony decided that for the foreseeable future, he was avoiding all forms of dark alleyways and alcoves. He was also never telling Loki to go on ahead of him. It was probably a reasonable decision on the whole, but more so for the fact that all he'd wanted was a cheeseburger on the way home from work, a freaking cheeseburger, and the next thing he knew, Captain America was popping out of a damn alley and scaring the bajeez out of him.

"Look, man," Tony told him and thought _Loki _as hard as he could. How far did his master-in-distress vibes go, anyway? "It's too late for this crap and Loki went home. Sorry, there's no one to play with you." Steve looked long-suffering and put-upon. Score one for Tony Stark. "Cheeseburger?" Tony held out the bag.

As expected, no takers.

"So, what brings you here?"

Steve matched him step-for-step.

"My master wants to speak to you," he said calmly, and Tony stopped walking.

"And exactly what," he began exasperatedly, "Do you think you're going to get out of this? Everyone knows full well I'm a sitting duck." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "Isn't it a little too easy for you wizards? Takes the fun out of it? I figured that y'all would have liked the long game, not the easy one."

Steve frowned.

"You're really not very good at surviving, are you?"

Tony was _exceptionally_ good at surviving.

"This is a war, not a game."

"Every war's a game," the words came out before he could stop them, "Whether you think so depends on if you win or lose."

Tony was also very good at winning. And being infuriating, made clear by the steadily quickening twitch of Steve's left eye. Good. Served him right for trying to kidnap someone so politely and not even having the manners to take a cheeseburger peace offering.

"Never thought a hero'd become a kidnapper. My old man talked about you a lot, you know," Tony said conversationally, aiming to hurt. "Never quit lookin' for you. Glad no one can tell him that this is how you pay a guy back." Oh, Tony had little love for Howard Stark (except that he did, he did, and hated it) but he also knew how to hurt someone, and nothing hurt a boy scout like being told they were a disappointment.

Tony had made a really fucking terrible boy scout.

"Look, just—quit it, would you?" Steve muttered, "I've got my orders. You knew this when you signed up for it."

"Actually, I kinda didn't. Who reads the fine print on contracts, anyway? Still, bygones. You sure you don't want the burger? I'll even split it with you—"

A hand buried itself in his collar before he could finish the statement and he found himself being hauled forward to get way too close a look at Captain America's baby blues.

"Be _quiet_," Cap growled and gave him a shake, and seriously, _fuck Loki so hard right now_. "You are going to _stop talking_ and then you are going to _keep walking_ and you aren't to say a _word_ until we get there. Understood?" Tony swallowed and batted his eyes.

"Anything for you, Charming."

Steve growled a little but didn't reply, apparently catching onto the fact that literally anything he said would become fodder for Tony's mental comeback machine. Shame.

There was a cab waiting on the side of the road and Steve walked right up, opened the door, and gestured for Tony to get in. He did, still thinking hard, _Loki_. And then he laughed a little. Life wasn't _Aladdin_ and Loki was no genie, and Tony couldn't free him with a wish.

Steve got in after him and said nothing to the driver. Still mad, apparently. There had obviously been directions given in advance because the driver knew exactly where to go, and Tony stared out the window and watched the scenery go by. They were either really, really stupid for not…god, he didn't know, drugging him or sticking a bag over his head or something. Not that that would really matter; Tony could mentally GPS his way out of the center of the earth if he had to.

It was in front of a warehouse down by the docks that they finally stopped. No money exchanged hands and the cab drove off, leaving Tony and Steve standing in the middle of the road.

"Hey, boy scout, you got a plan to this or what?"

Steve shouldered the door open and looked seriously like he was considering rolling his eyes.

"Just get inside."

Tony made a point of dusting himself off and sinking into a mocking curtsy as he went through the open door. The warehouse was empty, void of everything but what looked to be a kitchen table in the middle with two chairs around it. On the table was an insulated coffee pot and a few mugs, and sitting at said table was an unassuming man in a suit with neatly combed brown hair and a pleasantly bland expression.

Tony backpedaled and ran right into Cap.

"Oh shit, this is one of _those_ movies, isn't it?"

"I have no idea what you're referring to," the suited man said, voice mild. "How was the trip? Traffic shouldn't have been too bad at this time." He waved a hand towards the table. "Coffee?" Tony glanced from the man at the table to Steve behind him.

"This is one of those things where I don't really have a choice, right?"

The man in the suit tutted a little.

"Well, you're welcome to not drink the coffee," he amended and poured out two mugs worth, "But you'll want to. It's very good. Imported. I'd offer you rum in it but I prefer sober conversations, personally." The stranger shifted his gaze from Tony to Steve.

"Thought so," Tony spoke up, "Cap's your watchdog, then?"

"I prefer the term 'partner', myself. Enough of that, though, come and sit. I have no intention of fighting with you tonight, Tony Stark. Please."

Yep. No choice at all.

Tony took a step forward and that wasn't so hard, so he took another, and another, and continued until he reached the table.

"That coffee had better be damn good," he threatened, and the stranger lifted his mug to his lips to take a sip.

"Oh, it is." Tony sat down and the man reached down, rummaged around at his feet, and picked up a tupperware container filled with… "Cookie?" He didn't wait for a reply before popping the lid open himself and lifting one out, dipping it into his coffee and taking a bite. "Lancer, would you like one?" Again he didn't wait for a reply and plunked the container in the middle of the table. "Food brings people together, I always thought," he mused aloud, "The one common factor that every person on this planet shares. Never have a serious talk with anyone without food, my mother always said."

Tony stared.

Cap stared too.

The stranger took another bite of his cookie.

"Phil Coulson, by the way," the man in the suit continued, "And I'd like to propose an alliance with you and your servant."

Tony chugged his coffee and dropped the mug down with a clatter. He really _could _have used that rum right about now, damn him.

"Lesson one? Kidnapping people's not exactly the best way to get someone on your side. Lesson two—"

"I would make it worth your while," Coulson interrupted, lacing his hands together and leaning forward. "I fancy myself something of a collector. Of information rather than material items, of course. I have information that you will want and you would be the perfect complement to Lancer and I. Had you done your reading, you would have known that Caster is one of the least desirable servant classes in terms of the numbers. Historically, no one commanding Caster has managed to win. But it's not all about numbers," and here the soft, easy tone sharpened, revealing some hidden cunning, "Servants are magical at core but to use spells primarily…that's very special. And very useful."

Tony needed a damn cookie and he took one, biting into it with extreme prejudice. It was delicious.

"So, what," he began and brushed crumbs off the table, "I let you use my servant to help you when you need it, and you…what? What do I get?"

Coulson fanned his hands.

"You get a veritable fountain of information and access to the kind of bulk strength that your servant cannot provide you." He paused. "And I know that you're close with Miss Pepper and would rather not ask her anything that can risk her wellbeing. I can help you there. And when it gets to that point that it becomes necessary, I'll accept your surrender unconditionally and without question. Your life—and that of your servant's, will go right back to the way it was before. I'll make sure of it."

They fell into silence and Tony mulled over the proposal.

It was tempting. Very, very tempting.

"Look," he said finally, "I appreciate that you're not pretending to do this for me. You know how many times I've gotten stabbed in the ass by people trying to dick me around?" Coulson opened his mouth to speak, "Don't answer that. So I get it and props to you for not thinking I'm an idiot." He ate another cookie. "But I think I'll have to decline the offer—"

"Ignore him," an all-too familiar voice came from the shadows, "We accept."

"Excuse you," Tony accused, "Who said you got to say anything? You let them kidnap me!"

"You were perfectly safe," Loki said casually and appeared next to Tony's chair, snaking a hand forward and taking the cookie right out of his hand. "I had it under control."

"Had it under—" Tony sputtered, "_You had it under control?_ Listen, you asshole—"

"Now, now, children. Let's not fight." Coulson shifted his focus from Tony to Loki, who materialized another chair with a wave of his hand and languished in it. Tony glared. Loki studiously ignored him. "What can I do for you, Caster?"

"I want information on Thor," Loki grit out between clenched teeth, drawing the attention of all of them. All of his nonchalance fled him to leave something raw and ugly in his voice. Tony looked down; long, pale hands were white-knuckled and digging in to the wood of the summoned chair. Under the table he reached out, brushed a covert fingertip over the back of Loki's hand. The sorcerer went rigid, froze, then gathered the remains of his composure. "After that we will negotiate terms of service."

"I don't think so," Coulson said firmly, "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

No one answered him.

Tony sulked.

"Here's my suggestion, if you're open to it."

Loki leaned forward.

"I am listening." Coulson inclined his head in his direction and as if on cue, Steve approached and put himself behind his master, arms folded firmly and jaw tight. So he didn't approve of this, Tony thought. Good, because he was in good company.

"I will not pretend to be altruistic, this is to my benefit as much as yours. If death is unnecessary, why court it? It's much easier for everyone, do you not agree?" He paused as if to let it sink in, or like he was waiting for a reaction. When none came, when Tony scowled at the inside of his coffee mug and Loki sat like a statue, stone-faced, he continued. "What I want, Caster, is an oath that should I need aid that you can provide, you will answer."

Loki stiffened and Tony shifted, increasing the pressure he still held on the back of Loki's hand. _Hold on_¸ he thought as hard as he could, _I've got this. Let me handle this._

"You're not getting one of his command seals."

The room went dead silent and out of the corner of Tony's eye, he saw Loki slouch the tiniest bit, no more than an inch. Coulson saw it too and shook his head.

"Wouldn't dream of it. He is yours and our alliance changes nothing. Surely, Tony Stark, you don't consider your servant a commodity to be bought and sold at your whim."

Dick.

"All I ask is help to the best of your ability and the occasional spell to help my plans along. Nothing more, nothing less. I won't ask for your lives, nor your servitude. In exchange, I will give you all the information you desire on Thor and more. Do we have a deal?"

There had to be something hinky in this, Tony thought, there _had_ to be. He looked at Loki who'd helped get them into this mess and thought that if he'd had a scrap less pride or composure, he'd be fidgeting. He was antsy and that was weird. Loki didn't get antsy; Loki manipulated and played games and moved chess pieces until he got what he wanted. He didn't act like this.

And the fact that he was now was really, _really _bad.

When Loki caught Tony looking, he turned away and pulled his hand back to lace them together in his lap. Tony chewed on his lip.

Coulson held out his hand.

Finally, _finally_, Tony reached out and shook it.

If this was a hostile takeover, then it was better to claw his way out of it later than to get killed for it now.

Tony was very, very good at surviving.

Coulson tilted his head, looked at Loki, and the edges of his lips tilted up in a cryptic smile.

"Thor Odinson has been summoned by a magician named Jane Foster."

Tony didn't know how he knew it, but something in him made him reach out and grip his servant firmly by the wrist. Loki's pulse thrummed under his fingers, fast and hard, and Tony squeezed.

"Don't move," he said quietly and remembered his candle, remembered the feeling that put power into the words, imagined them binding and tying and holding tight, like nails and screws and circuits.

And Loki stayed put and raged stoically where he sat.

Tony put another cookie in front of him and didn't let him go.

* * *

"The fuck was that?"

Loki stared at him flatly like Tony was a garden slug.

"The fuck was what?" he parroted, dangerously mild. Coulson was gone, had walked right out of the warehouse, called a taxi, and took both Cap and himself home. Hadn't bothered calling one for either of _them_, the jerk. Tony, normally pretty tolerant of that kind of bullshit from Loki, wasn't playing around. He hadn't actually let go of him since he thought he needed to hold onto him. And his fingers tightened around Loki's wrist.

Why he hadn't shaken him off, Tony didn't know.

Honestly right now, he didn't care.

"You lost it," he snapped, "He knew how to get to you and you lost your shit."

Loki glared.

Tony glared harder.

"We're gonna go home," Tony said, calmer now, "We're going to order some food. You're going to hug the cat or whatever you have to do to calm down, and then you're going to tell me what crawled up your butt about this Thor guy."

"I am always calm."

Tony snorted.

"You, buddy, are the exact opposite of calm." He shot a pointed glance to the long-fingered hand attached to the wrist he held. It trembled slightly, whether in tightly-restrained fury or what, Tony didn't know. "You're kind of freaking out right now."

"I do not freak." Loki stared stoically into the horizon. The sun was setting, sinking down to the meet the ocean that splashed up against the barnacle-encrusted docks. Tony let out a slightly sarcastic laugh, squeezed his wrist, and let him go.

"Right," he said, "Of course you don't." A few quick keystrokes into his phone had one of his cars on the way and to pass the time, Tony parked himself on the ledge of one of the crusty docks, swinging his legs back and forth. Loki remained where he was with an unhappy, unreadable look on his face. He didn't move and Tony didn't look at him again until the car arrived. It was a gorgeous little thing, a cherry red sports car with a convertible top and Tony wasn't surprised that when he slid into the seat that Loki had winked into the passenger side with his belt already fastened.

Maybe it was a coincidence that JARVIS had sent a convertible, but probably not. Tony started the car and immediately let the roof down; Loki folded his arms over the window ledge and hung his head out without looking at him. Tony absolutely was not going to tell him that he looked kind of like a really happy dog whenever he did that.

Ever.

The ride was a silent one and Tony made no attempts to break it. Loki remained broody all the way back to the house, where he winked out of the car instead of walking up the stairs like a normal person. He was on the couch when Tony walked through the door, rifling through a few menus.

"Any preferences, mad cat?"

"Not hungry."

"Vindaloo for you, then."

Tony let Loki sulk on the couch until the food arrived and he paid the delivery boy (slipping him a substantial tip as well). He settled down on the floor with his curry and pushed Loki's container of lamb vindaloo across the table, plunking the takeout box of naan within easy access of both of them. It was good curry, hot enough to curl his nose hairs. Eventually, the lure of food won out and Loki popped the lid off of his own container and spooned his vindaloo over his rice, quietly digging into the lamb and potatoes with restraint.

Tony was not so restrained.

Nevertheless, he did eventually put down his spoon and lay his hands flat on the coffee table.

"Alrighty, time for talkies."

Loki met his eyes and Tony felt like he'd been slammed into a glass wall for all the emotion he could see in there. Those green eyes were cold and hard and stoic.

"Thor is my brother," he answered, finally, the words coming from his lips sounding rather like they'd been dragged out instead.

"I think you're going to have to give me more than that because I'm not following."

"He is my older brother," Loki continued slowly, "And he is first in line for the throne of Asgard. And he is a vain, stubborn, hotheaded brute."

"Aaaaaaand I'm sensing an inferiority complex somewhere in here-"

All the glasses in the kitchen shattered and Tony thought, belatedly but not for the first time, that he might actually want to consider keeping his snide comments to himself, at least if he wanted to still have breakables in the morning. Loki, already tense and agitated, was wringing his hands like he'd rather have strangled someone instead of broken all of Tony's highballs.

"All you need to know is that he is crude and self-centered, and I will destroy him."

That wasn't all that illuminating. Tony'd done plenty of reading, especially after summoning Loki, but...

"Aren't you supposed to be Thor's uncle, not brother?"

Loki stiffened further until he resembled more of a statue than a person, made of marble instead of flesh and bone.

"Your stories leave much to be desired," he said, "Thor and I are not related by blood. He is the firstborn child of Odin and I am...decidedly not."

Okay, that made a little more sense. Tony pushed away his bowl of curry and leaned forward, peering around and up to get a look at Loki's face. He'd tilted his head down so that his hair fell forward, hiding his expression. Tony sincerely hoped that he had a better poker face under better circumstances because right now he looked kind of like he was going to cry. That might literally be the last thing he felt equipped to deal with.

Well, might as well go for it.

Tony extended a hand and patted Loki tentatively on the shoulder as if he were diffusing a bomb rather than trying to offer comfort.

"Ahhh, adopted," he commented as if he knew a single thing about it, "That makes sense, that shit seems hard. What the foster care on Asgard like?"

The window rattled even though the evening was clear and calm.

"We'll kick his ass, okay?" Despite the magical warning signs Loki had yet to bat his hand away or move and Tony shifted from patting his shoulder to running his hand over dark hair, not unlike the way he would pet the cat. "That's what we decided on, right? We'll take on anyone and now we've got Cap and Coulson on our side, provided that they don't try and backstab us. Don't you think Cap is too much of a boy scout for that, though? If they do, I think you've got it under control. You're like me; you've got brains and strength. We'll be fine."

And then Tony shut up because that was just almost more pep talk than he could stand.

Still, his rambling seemed to do _something_ because Loki was looking at him, wide-eyed and bewildered as if he hadn't been living in Tony's house since he'd been summoned, like he didn't know him at all.

"No one has ever...there are few in Asgard who would call me strong."

There was something seriously wrong with that.

"Look, I don't know who fucked you up so bad but you're cool here and if you want to kick Thor around like a soccer ball, that's fine with me, name a time and place and we'll go and shoot some goals with his head, it'll be great. But we'll do it my way, none of this running off without me business."

"I must confess to enjoying the idea of kicking Thor around like a soccer ball," Loki admitted softly, and at his words the sides of Tony's lips tilted upwards.

"It's a date, then."

Loki didn't smile but all of him softened like he had, and Tony felt him lean in against his hand before pulling away and turning back to his food, scooping up his bowl and eating with less frenzied motions, every so often shooting Tony quick, unreadable glances, which he ignored.

Tony went back to his food and tried to not smile into his curry.

* * *

Peter Parker woke up by falling out of bed.

Not only did he fall out of bed but he fell out of bed right smack dab on top of Black Widow's feet. His servant stared disdainfully down at him with her arms crossed over her chest, green eyes annoyed. To her credit, she resisted her obvious urge to prod him in the face with her boot.

"Uh...good morning."

"I'm glad that you were able to enjoy it," she replied curtly, "Mind getting up sometime today so that I might actually be able to make my report?"

Peter scrambled to stand and was dismayed to realize that she was taller than he was. It might have been the boots but he wasn't going to ask anytime soon, not as long as she kept looking at him like that.

He expected her to leave when he stripped off his t-shirt to change into real clothing but she didn't, merely watched blandly even as he flushed and ducked into the bathroom. She was on the couch when he returned, the ugly, lumpy floral thing looking even more ugly and lumpy and floral in normal light. Peter tugged at the collar of his t-shirt and wished, irrationally, that he had something more professional to talk to her in, then squashed the thought.

It wasn't the clothes or the home or even blood that counted in a mage, he told himself firmly, no matter what anyone said.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that he might believe it.

Assassin began speaking before he was over the threshold.

"I have determined the identities of two of the six servants other than myself," she said briskly. "There is Rider who was summoned by Jane Foster, who is the Norse god known as Thor. There is also Berserker who was summoned by a girl named Darcy Lewis." Here her tone changed and shifted into something testier and Peter wondered if something had happened while she was out.

He still wasn't going to ask.

"Berserker is a man named Bruce Banner. He's a physicist, well-known for his research on gamma radiation."

Peter blinked.

"That's..." he began.

"Exactly," Black Widow interrupted. "Bruce Banner is no hero and is, in fact, not even a summon."

"But how is that possible?"

"My information is correct."

"I didn't say it wasn't," Peter said in response to the defensive tone that crept into her voice, "Just that it doesn't make any sense." And it didn't, at all. "Can you tell me about Thor, then?" He swiped the notebook off of the coffee table and uncapped a pen. Black Widow relaxed minutely and crossed one leg over the other, one hand running carefully idle patterns into the arm of the couch.

"Take notes, kiddo, I'm very thorough in my information-gathering and I don't need to sleep."

Peter fought the urge to groan and bury his face in the couch cushion.

Why had he thought that this would ever be a good idea?

* * *

"What is behind the door in your lab?"

Tony jumped and his mouthful of orange juice came out his nose. Loki set Sindr onto the floor and approached at a sedate pace that betrayed nothing of how he truly felt: an insatiable, burning curiosity, the likes of which he hadn't felt for several hundred years. It would have been easy enough to slip behind that door himself, to find out on his own, but that would take away the entire point—that the most satisfying rewards were those willingly given.

Tony set down his glass and backed up a step, instantly flashing back to blood, heat, and waves of golden sand.

"It's private," he finally answered. The words came with an edge to them that caught in his throat and he regretted that edge the instant he noticed it. If _he_ noticed it, then Loki definitely noticed it. And he'd latch onto it in payback for Tony's digging last night, he thought half in a panic, and he wouldn't let it go.

He waited for the inevitable fishing for information, the questions, the demands-

That never came.

Loki merely walked until they were chest to chest, looked him in the eyes, and nodded once.

"I see," was all he said as he stole Tony's remaining juice and walked away.

Tony gaped after him long after he'd left the room and wondered when Loki was gone why he almost felt disappointed.

* * *

_Meet me at Suzie's at 11.30_

The note that was tacked onto Phil's front door was written in the worst chicken scratch that Steve Rogers had ever seen. He knew that chicken scratch.

He didn't question it, just picked up his jacket and walked out the door.

An hour later, Steve wondered what Phil would say if he knew that right this second, he was sitting down for brunch with an enemy. He probably wouldn't have been terribly happy.

That didn't change the fact that he was sitting in a diner without his master, Wolverine sitting in the booth directly across from him and slurping noisily from a cup of unsweetened black coffee. Well, not Wolverine right now, he amended in his head. _Logan_ was sitting across from him, clad in a pair of blue jeans so dusty they looked brown and a leather jacket.

"Will Miss Potts be upset that you're here?" he asked and got a snort in reply.

"She ain't the boss of me."

Actually, she kind of was, but Steve decided to keep his mouth shut on that one.

"What about you, Goldilocks? Feelin' like a criminal yet?"

Steve stiffened.

"Phil doesn't try and tell me what to do," he retorted just as the waitress brought his orange juice. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome, honey," she said with a smile, casting a wary glance towards Logan. "Y'all ready to order?"

Steve ordered French toast and Logan went full on steak and eggs. _Rare_ steak and eggs, he thought with an internal grimace. How he could eat that in the morning was beyond him, but whatever. When she was gone, he turned back to Logan and cocked his head.

"So...what have you been up to?"

Logan gaped and his jaw slipped a lip, showing the tip of a fang. He sat in silence for a few minutes, staring, and then began to laugh.

"Leave it to you to shoot the shit in the middle of a war, kid!" he said when he could and Steve shot him a crooked grin that he couldn't hide with his juice. "Some things don't ever change."

"And some things do," Steve said pointedly, staring hard at Logan's hand atop the table, "How did you get those?"

"Knock it off, what's the matter?"

"Are they your noble phantasm?"

Silence, then, and there was a quiet schick as Logan unsheathed his claws by just a few inches. The metal gleamed in the fluorescent lights and the cheery colors of the diner, and Steve felt vaguely sick the longer he looked at them. The bone claws were bad enough, but metal?

It was barbaric.

"How'd you end up Lancer?" Logan sidestepped the question with one of his own, "Last I saw you, you were knocking heads with that oversized trash lid of yours."

"Last I checked, it was called a shield."

"Close enough."

It was _not _close enough and Steve frowned, and Logan tapped his claws on the table.

"Is there any possible way that you might—"

"Not a fucking chance," Logan snapped before he'd even finished. "Look...Yeah, see, the thing is..." There was a quiet scritching as Logan began sharpening his claws on the edge, "I'm dead as a doorstop. Bada boom. Have been since WW2, I get that, got the t-shirt, skipped the therapy. You think I wanna go back to that? Anyone who tries to stop me's got another thing comin' and that includes you. I am going to get that grail and I'll rip anyone apart to get there. Don't ask me that again."

They sat in silence until the waitress came back with their food, and Steve's French toast turned to sawdust in his mouth even as Logan dug into his steak.

"What are you going to wish for if you win?" he asked finally. Logan chewed, swallowed, and put his fork down with a clack.

"Lemme ask you something, bub. What are _you_ doing? How'd you die?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer and then froze.

Closed his mouth.

He couldn't remember.

* * *

Tony was having a heart attack.

It wasn't the first time and he doubted that it would be the last, even after the close call with the paladium poisoning last year, and he recognized the signs easily. Shortness of breath, he noted, forcing himself into calm. Something sharp and achey shooting up and down his arms. Nausea too, and a touch to his forehead confirmed the cold sweat beading his skin.

He couldn't breathe.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck.

_Loki_, he thought hard. _Loki, come here. Please. I need you. Please._

_Loki._

Upstairs on the couch, Loki stopped dead, fingers going still in the long black fur at Sindr's tail. With the word came a sense of urgency, fear and panic, though Tony's mental voice was calm. Too calm.

He didn't think twice about pushing the cat off of his lap and winking out of the room, bypassing the security systems entirely to reappear in Tony's lab. The man was lying supine on one of his own tables, pale and shaky. At some point he'd peeled his shirt off and the strange device in his chest, normally shining bright and steady, flickered erratically. Every time it did, Tony gasped like a fish out of water.

"Hey, you came," he quipped when he caught sight of Loki, "Good timing, spunky. I'm going to need you to lend me a hand."

"What is going on?" Loki asked and approached, alternately eyeing the flickering reactor and Tony's face.

"See," he began and cut off when his chest went dark, a high sound of pain escaping from his throat, "Should probably have told you this a little sooner- ow, _motherfucker_- but this thing kind of helps keeping potentially fatal shrapnel from going into my heart, and right now it's not working, and if you don't do exactly as I say I'm going to die and then you and Pepper get to fight over all my assets." He spoke quickly and urgently and Loki hovered at his side, hands out and unsure. "I've got a second reactor, just—you're going to have to switch them out. I can't do it myself."

Loki froze and all the color drained out of his face.

"_Excuse me_?"

Tony glared at him.

"For once in your life, I'm really going to need you to shut up and do what I tell you," he gritted out over another wave of pain, "Just—Loki, please. I don't want to die today."

Loki tightened his jaw and tried to ignore the cold lump of ice that had settled in his stomach ever since Tony had said the word 'fatal'.

"What—what must I do?" he asked tentatively. His fingers twitched on instinct, and he wished there was a spell or enchantment that he could use to fix this. There wasn't. For all of his knowledge and skill, Tony was still lying there dying on his own table and Loki was useless.

"I loosened the reactor. You need to take it out and make sure that the little wire in there doesn't touch the side, otherwise I'll make a really awful noise and will probably die right there, got it? Make sure that when you pull the wire, you've got the other one ready—it's in that little box next to me, because once that is unhooked, I'll go into full-on cardiac arrest, which is always pretty freaky. But don't freak out, I swear to god, Loki, please don't freak out. Just—"

"I believe I understand," Loki said even though he didn't, even though he'd been spellcrafting for centuries and suddenly found his hands trembling. "I will..." he trailed off and ran a finger around the top of the reactor instead. He forced the shaking to still before he gripped the metal edge, twisted it gently, and pulled it up and outwards. The wire was easy to see, dripping with some unknown liquid. Loki pointedly did not look inside Tony's chest cavity. "That is..." he swallowed hard.

"Yes, we all know it's gross," Tony said tightly, "Welcome to the inner workings of Tony Stark. Literally. _Now would you please get on with it_?"

Loki opened the box with his other hand, pulled out the second reactor and uncoiled the wire. It glowed steadily, a bright and now familiar blue.

And then he tugged.

The tension on the defective reactor snapped and the effect was instantaneous; Tony went stiff and gasped silently as if unable to make a sound and the machine he'd hooked himself up to blared an alarm as if matching Loki's feelings on the matter. Deftly, Loki pulled the whole thing out and slipped in the new one in the span of a breath and a half. There was a click of the wire taking a hold and a short snap, and it took very little to pop in the reactor and tighten it.

As quickly as it started, the action faded away.

Tony sat up like this happened every day and rubbed at his chest with a grimace, like he hadn't been dying, like he hadn't just asked his servant to pull his heart right out of his chest. He'd never lost his calm, never shown panic, never fumbled.

Meanwhile, barely a step away, Loki was a wreck.

His breaths came hard and unsteady and he stood with both hands gripping tightly onto the edge of the table.

"Hey..." Tony asked, satisfied that he was in working order again, "You okay?"

Loki didn't answer him.

_That_ was worrisome because if Tony knew one thing about the man he'd summoned, it was that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice almost as much as Tony himself did. He scooted off the table a little bit, closer to Loki who was hanging his head, already pale face entirely colorless and not looking like it was coming back.

Clearlyhe was not okay.

"Loki?"

Loki twitched a little, the only indication that he'd heard the words at all. At least until he looked up, green eyes wide and horrified. At least until he spoke.

"You kept this from me," he said softly.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of slipped my mind." Tony tried to brush it off, tried a grin, but it fell flat when it became clear that Loki wasn't in the mood for playing. At all. "Hey, I'm sorry. I never thought it'd come up. I never thought you'd need to..."

The words didn't help, Loki thought distantly. He supposed that they were probably meant to reassure but he found himself anything but. All he could think of was that thick liquid slipping down the wire that could have so easily killed him instead and the feeling of literally holding Tony's life in his hands. His hands that had yet to stop shaking.

"Loki—"

"You will never do this to me again," Loki interrupted. He moved from his spot, finally, shifting until he was practically draped over the table, nose-to-nose with Tony. "Ever. You will _never—_"

"Holy shit, I scared you." Tony sounded dumbfounded. "Oh my god. I actually scared you."

Loki couldn't possibly dignify that with an answer and curled in on himself. His fingers clenched into fists. Tony peered at him, gaped, and then without warning wrapped an arm around his neck to reel him in close. Loki went, awkward as it was over an operating table.

"Jesus." Tony spread his hands out over the planes of Loki's shoulders to take up as much space as possible. "Jesus," he repeated. "I didn't... I'm sorry."

"You are an asshole." The insult came thoughtlessly and Tony wondered what that meant when his words came flying back to him so easily.

"I know I am."

Loki pressed in until his nose brushed the juncture of Tony's neck and collarbone and breathed in deeply before pulling away. He'd regained a fraction of his composure, much to Tony's relief, though the look on his face meant nothing good at all.

Long, thin hands picked up the broken reactor and held it like it was something precious.

"You will tell me the story of how you got this," Loki told him, and the only reason Tony didn't interrupt was because he could still see the whites of his eyes, "You will tell me what it does, how it works, how it is made, and how it may be repaired should the need arise. And you will _never_ allow me to feel like this again."

The gravity of that statement hit Tony like a truck.

Loki was serious.

Loki was very, very serious, and he didn't look away even when it seemed like Tony wouldn't answer him. He also didn't move, continued to hover over the operating table mere inches away.

Shit, he'd really scared him.

"You demanded answers of me last night," Loki continued, "You asked much of me because you felt that I was risking your life without cause. Now you are needlessly risking mine."

Tony flinched.

_Ouch._

"Okay," he answered when he found that he couldn't keep contact with those judging green eyes, "Next time go for the crotch shot, it'll hurt less."

Loki crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Any second and Tony thought he might actually start tapping his foot.

"Look, about a year back, I was involved in some pretty nasty stuff. Weapons development, all that jazz. I was in another country, and a terrorist group blew up my entourage and took me captive so that I would make weapons for them." Tony swallowed. "Nearly killed me in the process; a bunch of shrapnel went into my chest and would have killed me if a guy –Yinsen was his name— hadn't been there. Kept my heart going with a car battery. Taught me all he knew. And then he died. Blah blah blah, then I was rescued, developed this little baby, and that's the story, the end."

That was not the end.

Loki's eyes narrowed.

"That is not the end," he said and leaned in close, close to the point that Tony could pick up the soap he'd used in the shower that morning, something warm and spicy and unrecognizable. "There is much that you are not telling me and you will regret your dishonesty." Despite the threat, Loki's tone was strangely gentle, almost kind. Almost sympathetic.

Tony's heart thudded in his head and he tried to shake off the sudden feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine.

Loki blinked out of his lab without warning and Tony keenly felt the loss as if he'd lost a limb.

* * *

In the back of Tony's lab there was a door that was never opened, and past that door there was a case lined with glass and gold. Suspended in the case by cables was a suit of metal, made of spare parts and screws and built on helplessness.

Tony stood in the threshold and stared at it. A swipe of his forehead left sweat on his hand and he wiped it on his pants.

Here it was, he thought. Here it was. It was grey and chunky, in disrepair and so unlike his normal work, still studded with sand and grit, and Tony hated the sight of it. It represented everything he'd tried so hard to avoid: the unbridled terror, the pain...

And the shame.

He'd gathered every scrap of metal from the sand afterward and put it back together, and then only looked at it when he was at his most drunk and coincidentally, his most vulnerable, when it was easiest to shove the knife past his own defenses.

Tony wasn't drunk now and he kind of wished that he was.

"So this is what you weren't telling me."

Tony didn't turn around. He didn't need to to know that Loki was standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest, what was probably a smug, self-satisfied expression tugging on his features. Tony didn't turn around because he didn't want to see it.

"I swear to god," he said lowly, "If you don't turn around and leave right now, I will make you wish you had."

Warm breath and the light brush of dark hair tickled his ear, and from behind him Loki chuckled.

"I did tell you that I would make you regret your dishonesty, did I not?"

Tony didn't say a word before whipping around, reeling back his fist, and clocking Loki right in the face with a satisfying thud. To his credit, Loki took a step backwards and pressed a hand to his jaw, his eyebrow twitching like he'd like absolutely nothing more in the world than to strangle Tony until he stopped moving.

Well, good.

"You're such an asshole!" Tony spat. Loki stepped around him, into the room, and approached the case.

"Violence does not become you, Tony Stark," he said. "This is...fascinating."

"Great, glad you like it, now get the hell out."

"I don't think I will."

Loki leaned down and peered inside the case, running meticulous eyes over metal sheets and angles and Tony felt like he was under the microscope instead of the suit. His skin crawled and all he could think was _get out, get out, get out, I don't want you to see this, get out_, over and over again until he felt like he was screaming.

Tony was screaming but he didn't say a word.

"There is still sand in here," Loki observed, "From a desert land? Embedded in the metal like immense heat has welded it in. It is unfinished and unpolished, like it was made in a hurry or in secret. And here..." he sunk down to his knees to stare closer at a particular spot, "If I am correct, that stain is old blood. Yours, if one has two brain cells to rub together." He stood to his full height and Tony was reminded, not for the first time, that he was much taller. It was hard to remember sometimes, especially when he'd walk in and the guy was flat on his back on the couch and cuddling his monster, that Loki was no pushover.

More than that, he was sharp.

Loki was the knife, not the ax.

"Your story now makes sense to me," he said eventually and stood, "And once more I find myself in the position to lend you aid."

"You've got a pretty funny way of showing it."

Loki ignored the words and snapped through the locks and the chains and cables with a wave of his hand. The suit clattered to the ground with a harsh rattle of steel and pieces untouched. Tony lurched forward like that could stop him.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because it is unacceptable for the human judged worthy of me to be brought down by his own self-pity!" Loki snarled and shattered the dark glass around that tarnished, sort-of silver suit with a snap of his fingers. Gone was the calm he'd held the whole while, gone was his composure, gone was the infuriating sense that he had everything under control.

"Stop that!" Tony reached out and yanked him by the arm only to be flung back and seconds later, a furious Loki staring him straight in the face, green eyes crackling with bare-constrained rage. "I said stop it!"

"I will not!" Loki shot back.

"What, it's not enough that I had to let Yinsen die in that fucking cave because I was too much of a failure to save his life? It's not enough that I'm not enough to finish this? Does that make you happy?"

It hurt all over again and Tony felt himself shake down to his bones in memory, as if it happened just yesterday. Like a wound that would never really scab over and heal because Tony had taken out those responsible but he'd never be able to bring Yinsen back...and he owed him. Tony Stark didn't often honor debts, except when he found them impossible to pay. Then they stuck with him like a Top 40 song, hovering in the back of his head just behind his work and projects, looming like specters.

Loki reached out and grabbed him by the lapels, dragging him forward and leaning down until they were nose-to-nose.

"You created something new," he said tightly, "You created it and then you abandoned it halfway through."

So that was what this was about, Tony thought. It was indignation on the part of an unfinished project. Loki didn't care about him, didn't care about the hows or the whys or the whats; he only cared that he'd left it all undone. That he hadn't finished it. He didn't care about what Tony had given up in exchange. It was the anger of a scientist and an inventor he was seeing right now, not the anger of...well, a friend.

Tony didn't know which was worse; that he got what he expected or that he didn't get what he wanted.

Loki shook him, restrained but vibrating with tension as if it was literally everything he could do to hold himself back.

"You will finish this," he told him fiercely, "You will finish your suit and make it yours so that you may _fight with me_. And then I will apply what will defend you. You will own it and control it; it will be your shield and your sword. Your greatest failures will become your greatest strength but you must fight for it first."

And Tony just stood and let his servant shake him, stunned and almost numb. Instead of loosening his grip at the lack of resistance, Loki's fingers tightened like saplings at his neck, strong and flexible and surely green inside.

"You are strong but you are broken," Loki said and instead of being constricting, Tony felt suddenly like he was being held together with the strength of a god. "You need only to be put back together."

"What, and you think you can do that?" Tony made himself ask.

"I will do that," Loki answered promptly, "Because you are worthy and I will _make you so_. Until you are as sure of it as I am."

And then Tony could breathe, the familiar rush of a power trip filling his veins until all he could see and feel was the magnitude of Loki, Loki who needed only to think the words to have him dead, Loki who didn't respect him, Loki...

Loki who found him worthy.

It was like a high like nothing he'd experimented with in college, like nothing he'd ever found in the blinking lights and circuits and codes of his robots. Like nothing he'd ever found in women or recognition or recreational drugs, to have belligerent Loki stare down at him and acknowledge him for himself, not because he had to or because he was trying to save his own skin. Loki didn't have to do this. Loki had his own problems, his own motivations, his own complexities and psychoses and concerns.

And here he was, demanding that Tony prove himself.

Because somehow, he knew that platitudes would never work. Tony had gotten nothing _but_ platitudes since he'd come back from Afghanistan, platitudes and condescension and a pity so intense that it was poisonous.

And here was Loki, telling him to pick himself the fuck up, grow a pair, and own it.

"Heh," Tony snickered and even that was a broken sound. Loki's grip tightened. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"So you have told me."

Tony pulled in a breath, held it for ten seconds, and then let it go. He raised his head and Loki was still watching him, the fury lowered to a quiet steaming to be replaced with a considering, speculative stare.

He wanted a show?

He'd get a fucking show.

"Well?" Tony asked and batted away Loki's hands, "Finish what you started. We've got work to do."

For a moment, Loki remained still and silent until finally, _finally_, a slow curve tilted up the sides of his lips and Tony saw him soften and warm with the shift. He flicked his fingers and the final cables snapped to release the hull of his suit, sending it clattering to the floor. And then Tony couldn't help it; he moved, lunged forward and pressed a fierce, impulsive kiss to the line of Loki's jaw and then whipped around to haul his suit up and throw it on the work table. He ignored the look of slack shock that played on Loki's face as he pulled up panels and plugged in cords and brought up blueprints and schematics that he knew off the top of his head, he'd replayed them so much.

Eventually, Loki followed him over and reached out, brushing fingertips to metal that hadn't been touched in years.

"What would you ask of me?"

And wasn't that just the fucking question? _Anything you want to give me,_ Tony's brain helpfully supplied, but that probably wasn't going to cut it, and in the end he settled for flipping a cluster of wires tied together in his direction.

"You can start by plugging those in and bringing me my blowtorch. We've got a long night ahead of us."

Far from looking displeased, Loki's smile only widened and he did as he was bid with green eyes alight.

* * *

AN2: Thank you so much for reading! This is really becoming a monster of a fic. Please please _please_ feel free to leave feedback, good or bad, if you have any thoughts. I always respond to PMs.


End file.
